King of Secrets
by Stephabi
Summary: Dorian has loved before; before evil took over and destroyed his kingdom, his people. Now that the Vlag has left and the demons have been destroyed he wishes for love again. And he thinks he can find it in the witchling Manon Blackbeak. Manon has never loved anyone. But as of late one particular King has been constantly in her thoughts. Can they make their love work?
1. Chapter 1

Dorian felt hot. Uncomfortably so. He rolled over and tossed the warm blankets off himself, freeing one of his legs. A cool breeze floated over him and he drifted back to sleep. In his dreams the Demon Prince returned to him. He felt him in his body, taking over, forcing control. He could feel the ugly blackness that crawled into his body, puppeting his limbs and making his mouth say things he didn't mean. Taking control of his eyes; Dorian remembered the horrors that he witnessed when the Vlag was inside of him. He turned over agitatedly, the imaginary Vlag turning inside of him too. Every night this happened. The nightmares returned and he relived some of the horrors of the past few weeks. Tonight was no exception. He saw himself, felt himself, walking down. Down into the dungeons. Then he saw himself standing, looking at a beautiful man in a dank, dark cell. The man was dying, a wound in his side. He hoped to die. The Vlag could sense it. Dorian, his oppressed soul, could feel the man's pain, wanted to take it away from him. The Vlag made him chuckle, he could feel his throating bobbing manically. The sound came from his mouth but it didn't feel like him. It didn't feel like when he laughed. He tried to resist a little bit, tried to push the demon out. Taking joy in the man's pain, the demon was stronger than usual. He pushed Dorian down again, forcing him to crawl back into the hole that he had been hiding in. Dorian wanted to scream in pain as a horrible sensation took over his mind. It felt as if nails were raking the inside of his head, scraping through his mind, in his thoughts. He wanted to scream so badly, but his throat would no longer obey him. He drifted away and he felt the Vlag move away from the dark cell. He told a guard at the door about the wound and took pleasure in the angered breath coming from the cell. The he found himself atop a horse. Another situation. Another painful memory. Except this one wasn't so bad. This one he remembered properly. This was the one with the beautiful woman. There were actually two women, one was beautiful as she was exotic looking, and the other was like a stunning icy storm. Dark hair and slanted green eyes paired with smooth skin and a small waist made the Shifter and enticement to men. When she was captured she had put up a fight, and the demon inside of him had moved his hand to hit her. She had shied away then, retreating to the back of the wagon that she was put in. But it was the other girl that captured his attention. Not a girl really, he sensed that she was way older than she appeared. She was eerie in her beauty, but she held a dangerous aura. She bowed to no-one and defied his father. She had spoken to him, and he relived the conversation. He felt himself smile. Remembered that he had broken through, pushed the demon down. Her danger intrigued him, and she swore that she would kill him. Some part of him hoped that she would, to free him. But he desperately wanted to live, to force the demon out and regain his power. Because maybe when he had his power back he could see her again. Fight danger with danger. The spark of attraction he felt towards her wasn't just because of the way she looked. Sure, he liked women. He liked the way they looked, and the way they thought, and he especially liked the way they felt against him. But he had never really liked a woman for something special. Except Calaena. He had loved her temper and the way her eyes danced when she was jesting. He had loved her for all she was. But not in the way he had thought. He thought she had been the woman for him, and his heart broke when she turned to his closest friend, Chaol. But after fighting with her, after destroying the evil, he realised that what he felt towards her was love, but between close friends, between siblings. He would do anything to protect her, but he was contented to see her happy in another's arms. The dream pulled him back in. He could see the silver-white hair that seemed to flow around her like water. Fluid and gorgeous, it contrasted with the blood red of the cloak she wore. And her eyes, those beautiful golden eyes that sat like gems upon those regal cheekbones. Her lips were sensual and her white teeth perfect. When she smiled, the corner of her mouth tugged up on the left and it made his heart beat faster. He wasn't sure she even knew that she smiled like that. She wasn't aware that for a few seconds she wasn't a warrior, hard-hearted and brutal. She was a lady, teasing and happy. He thought of the initial shock he had experienced when she had smiled a different smile though - a killer's smile. Iron teeth poking out of her mouth instead of the human ones that had been there seconds before. A witch. A Blackbeak. He knew she was wicked, but he just couldn't help himself. He thought of her the way he thought of no one else. Dorian became gradually aware that he was no longer asleep. He had finished dreaming and had been thinking of Manon, wide awake, staring at the top of his four poster bed. He sighed and swung out of the bed. He felt too confined. After the 'incident' with the Vlag he couldn't be in small places for too long. His bed wasn't small but he still felt… caged in. He went to his washing chamber and ran some water into the big stone basin. He stared at himself in the mirror. Dark hair, shockingly blue eyes. High cheekbones and tanned skin. He was good looking. Everyone knew it. But his features were marred by a thin white line that ran across his throat, and dark circles under his eyes. Proof of the Vlag. Proof of the nightmares. He splashed his face with cold water, suddenly feeling hot again. It was because he was thinking about Manon. Every night his thoughts returned to this. To _her._ He sighed and made his way out of his doors, onto his balcony. He stood and looked around. The castle was quiet. No sounds except for two guards laughing somewhere. The wind blew through the trees, ruffling the leaves. He looked up to the moon and thought of Manon again. He blew the air out through his nose, hard. He wouldn't see her again, no matter how desperately he wanted to. She was working with Perrington. She was his Wing Leader. She wanted to destroy him. He couldn't let it happen. He had to fight her. But for now, he thought, he just wanted to stare at the moon and think of her. Think of what could have been.

Manon couldn't sleep. Once again she was thinking of her situation. How to save the Thirteen from her Grandmother. How to get away from Perrington. She and Asterin had flown to Adarlan to warn Aelin about Dorian, to tell her that he was still there. She had seen him once since. And she still thought of him. She made her way up to Abraxos' keep. The beast was sleeping on his back, feet in the air. She stalked up to him in a foul temper and slapped his stomach. He rolled onto his side, covering himself with a wing before snoring again. She snorted. Worthless beast. He would probably die one night sleeping like this. An attacker would enter and slit his belly and he wouldn't have even heard it. The rest of the keep was quiet, and Manon wandered around, observing the Thirteen's animals as they slumbered. There was Asterin's pale blue female. She slept delicately. On her side, her two large front paws held to her chest. Manon made her way back to Abraxos. She thought of Asterin's Wyvern and the way that Abraxos and her interacted. He always left space for her in their line-up. Right next to him. As if it comforted him knowing that she was beside him and safe. For the first time in a long time she thought of love. _It's almost as if they are in love_ , she thought, too tired to notice how absurd the possibility was. No - she had thought of love recently. Asterin. Her lost love. It was the saddest story Manon had ever heard and it made her feel vulnerable. It gave her feelings. She wasn't used to feelings like this. It brought about thoughts of attraction and what it would be like for Manon herself to be in love. She snorted. Not possible. Her, the Wing Leader, have feelings. But a face popped into her mind, and as she sunk down onto the hay next to her Wyvern she let the image stay. A man, a very handsome one, who frequently haunted her dreams and seemed to consume her thoughts more and more often since she had last seen him. Dorian. The handsome prince whose eyes had once been so alive, but now met hers with a wisdom and sadness that she wished she could erase. She had never felt attracted to someone, let alone a human. But he wasn't just a human - he had magic. Very powerful magic. A flicker of hope ignited inside of her - it might work. She suddenly felt uneasy. Ever since they had come to Morath, Asterin had been acting strangely. And now Manon knew why, but it still didn't explain what was changing inside _her_ , herself. She was changing. She could feel it, in her thoughts and in the things she said. The way she wanted to disobey her grandmother and free her Thirteen. The way she wanted to help Dorian. The way that she felt hope and happiness and _love_. She rolled onto her stomach on the hay, looking directly into Abraxos' watering trough. It was a large metal pail and reflected the moon in the window behind her. And it reflected her. She studied her face. She had a slender face - not overly plump or skinny, just right. Her dark gold eyes flickered in the moonlight, the dark lashes framing them making her more beautiful. Her hair matched the moon in colour she thought. She combed her fingers through it and brought it to one side, braiding it over her shoulder. When it was braided it revealed her more somehow. As if being able to see her ears made her appear younger and more vulnerable. She rested her hands on her chin and smiled. First her warrior's smile. The frightening one that terrified men and was reserved for humankind in general. The smile that revealed just how much she enjoyed killing. And then she stopped because she noticed how it seemed to twist her features grotesquely. She was still gorgeous, but there was something dark and evil about her when she smiled like that. She didn't like it anymore. The horror that she caused. She wanted what Asterin had once had, she realised. To feel so strongly about someone that you would endure anything for them. She smiled again, thinking of that feeling. Of being happy. The freedom that she felt when she was flying. The grin was a cheeky one, slightly shy and coy. The left side of her mouth quirked up before the right, and it made her eyes crinkle in the corners. She saw them sparkle. This smile. She liked this one. She turned over and looked at the moon through the window. Abraxos' body keeping her warm. His contented huffs during his sleep calming her. The moon seemed so big, as if it could see everything. It probably could. It could probably see the palace at Adarlan right now. All the lights off inside. She wondered if Dorian would be up, doing formal King stuff. Battle plans and organisations for funds and his court. Looking after his people. She a warm breeze whispered past her and she did the most foolish thing she had ever done. Placing her hand on her mouth she kissed her finger tips lightly and blew the kiss along the wind. _Dorian_ , she thought. _Would it work?_

Dorian had been outside for nearly an hour. Staring at the sky, the stars, and the moon. At the trees and the buildings and his city in the distance. He had so much to do. Sending Chaol to a healer to get his legs fixed was a priority. And now Calaena - no, Aelin - was gone with Rowan and Aedion. He felt lonely. And Sorscha. His father had taken her. He remembered the love he felt for her, but he didn't really remember _her_. Those weeks that the Vlag had been inside him he had been in such immense pain that he had forgotten nearly everything about her. Except the way he felt when he was with her and the gut wrenching sight that was her head rolling away from her body. He wanted to feel that again. Before going back inside he looked up at the moon once more. He wondered if Manon could see it from where she was. A spring breeze tickled his ear and neck, seeming to plant little kisses in the places it touched. As he turned his back on the moon and opened his doors he thought about it. _It could_ , he thought. _It really could work_.


	2. Chapter 2

Dorian woke up with a headache. His head throbbed and his ears were ringing as if he had been listening to his hunting hounds baying for far longer than was appropriate. He stood up and made his way to his private dining chamber, swearing as his vision swam. He swigged down a glass of watered wine and grabbed a few small oat cakes. He went back to his sitting room and plopped down into the big armchair stationed by the window. Sun streamed in and warmed him as he stared out of the window morosely, chewing the food slowly. Thoughts churned through his brain, and he pushed down the memories of his midnight visit to the balcony. And the dream. But now he had to focus; he had to go see Chaol and prepare to figure out what Perrington was doing. All he knew was that it involved the demon king. He shuddered, thinking of all the people stuck in the fortress at Morath. On the great mountain that held such poison and pain. He sucked in a breath remembering the pain that had squeezed him while the demon was inside of him. S _top,_ he scolded himself. _You already lose enough sleep dwelling on it_. He lethargically made his way to his bathing chamber, the warmth of the sun on that old tattered chair that he had refused to get rid of had made him lazy as a farm cat. He took a bath in the tub, adding some sweet smelling salts to the warm water. The smell reminded him of Sorscha, and with a pang in his heart he realised that he had forgotten one of the most intimate characteristics of the woman he had loved. He soaked in the tub until the water was lukewarm and then got dressed in a pair of fine breeches and a cool shirt. It was spring and already warm. He left off a formal tunic and after putting on his boots, made his way to his study. His father's private work chamber had been in the glass castle and he had made sure that if anything remained of the monstrosity, it was destroyed. Now his study was in the heart of the stone fortress; a large comfortable room with a pair of couches on one end near a grand fireplace, so that he might sit and discuss matters with Chaol and his other advisers. Along the other three walls were shelves of books. A wonderful deep wood comprised the shelves, and the lines of tomes were occasionally broken by a trinket of sorts – glass bottles with miniature ships, a small statue of a dog, a globe. On his travels, Dorian had collected a number of interesting items, and now he displayed most of them along with his books. His desk, also made of mahogany, stood opposite the fireplace, and received sun from the large windows on the left side. A serving table stood on the right wall, with glass jars full of different beverages. From juices to ale and mead, Dorian had it whenever he pleased. Although, right now, with his splitting headache, all he wanted was a glass of water. He sunk down behind his desk, his comfortable chair making a soft whooshing sound as he did so. He motioned for one of his guards to call a maid and reviewed a report sitting on his desk while he waited. The maid appeared, a pretty girl, slightly on the plump side, but with a pleasant enough face. Before he might have looked her over teasingly, wanting to make her blush, just for the sport of it. He had never realised that he may have been thought of as a rake, but know he realised just how much he had used his powers as a handsome young prince to get him what he had thought he wanted. The maid standing in front of him only looked at him with pity now.

"Could you bring me some water please…" he struggled for the girl's name.

"Meg," she said kindly. "My name's Meg, Your Highness." She bobbed a little curtsey and he smiled. For the first time in a long while he felt truly happy, reflecting her jovial smile. "Right away, Your Highness," she turned to bustle off when Dorian spoke.

"Dorian," he corrected. She smiled again and he saw that she was just being friendly, not looking to be the King's next fling.

"Right away, Dorian." She disappeared from view and Dorian smiled to himself. A few minutes later she was back with a jug and a glass for him, a bowl of lemons sitting next to it. A large bowl of fresh chopped fruit also sat on the tray. She set the tray down on the serving table and brought a goblet to him, a slice of lemon adding a tinge of freshness. The bowl of chopped fruit remained on the tray. Dorian nodded his thanks and raised the goblet before taking a drink. Meg waited for him to finish before being dismissed. She stood quietly for a few minutes before clearing her throat softly.

"M'lo – Dorian, sorry," she winced. "May I have my leave?"

Dorian shook his head and her face clouded over with confusion. "Did you, did you know…" he couldn't bring himself to say her name.

"Sorscha?" her question was soft and Dorian sensed much more emotion than her face conveyed.

"Yes…" he trailed off and looked out of the window. Sun streamed in, and outside, in the courtyard, he saw gardeners tending to the rosebushes and other fragrant blossoms. He sighed and looked back to the maid. She gave him a tight smile and he smiled back, just as small and sad. "You may have your leave," he said and she bobbed a quick curtsey before bustling out. Dorian spread open a large map of the continents and reviewed Adarlan and Morath. He was just weighing down the edges of the map when his door burst open again and Meg ran in. Followed by another maid who was white as a sheet.

"Dorian," she breathed heavily, her cheeks turning red. "Dorian, there's someone here, she said she wanted to speak to you."

"Beautiful, she is beautiful," muttered the other girl. Dorian furrowed his brow, not knowing what they were going on about. "Stormed in, her hair…stormed in like a beautiful tornado."

"I'm sorry, ladies, but I do not –" his words were cut off by strong female figure striding into his office.

Manon's insides twisted at the pitiful sounds of the maid weeping. She hadn't meant to frighten the girl, just drive home to fact that her need to see Dorian was urgent. _Humans,_ her mind spat out, as if it were a rotten egg in her mouth. She dropped her sword on one of the couches situated near the door and unhooked her red cloak. She threw it onto the back of the lounge as well, its folds pooling over the back of the chair like a waterfall of blood. She shot an annoyed look at the servants, a plump girl was comforting the maid who had met her at the front hall. She schooled her features and looked around the room casually. There. At the desk. He stood now, tall and handsome, his features surprised and open. His sapphire blue eyes held a hint of hesitation, but were otherwise warm. She focused in on the narrow white scar that marred his perfect features. Others would say that it depleted his beauty, but Manon thought it gave him… character. She gave a toothy grin to the maids and saw Dorian's features become guarded.

"Meg," his deep voice sent a tiny shiver down her spine. "Take your companion back to the maid's quarters and make sure she is given some sweetened wine. After she is feeling better I ask that you come back to me, no need to wait for my permission to enter." He nodded his head and the plump maid led the sobbing girl away, soothing her as she went. Manon stood by the couch, arms folded, waiting for an invitation to sit. Any other human and she would have had them serving her wine and grapes, but since it was Dorian… well, she'd lay on the niceties. Dorian circled round his desk and leaned back against it. Half sitting, his legs stretched out in front of him. They seemed to go on forever, Manon thought. This room seemed to be too small for the King, his solid frame taking up more space than he realised. He casually folded his arms over his chest, his biceps shown off in the white shirt he wore. It was not tied at the neck and she could see the dip between his collar bones and part of his tanned chest. She made herself look away, to study the books lining the shelves. She stepped away from the couch and made her way around the office, running her hand along the spines of the material bounds volumes. She came to a tapestry of a waterfall and gasped when she thought it moved. Behind her, Dorian chuckled. He hoisted himself from his place against his desk and came to stand near her, observing the tapestry.

"When the magic was released, the tapestries came to life. This one… this one my mother had kept locked away from my father. It is a prophecy of sorts." He gestured to the tapestry and Manon turned back to it, watching as suddenly the waterfall seemed to freeze; the water below it becoming stitched with the ripples of frost. Ice settled on the pond and snowflakes started to fall.

"It's your magic," she breathed, understanding.

"Yes," Dorian agreed. "My magic. Although I'm not quite at the stage where I can do that, all I can do is freeze a bowl of water. I did a lot more when I defeated my father, but I think it was because Aelin helped me. Now my gift needs more magic to nurture it, to help it grow."

"Show me," her command was brisk, and she realised she was talking to him as if he was one of her army, her Thirteen, not the man who made her stomach do flips and her mind turn as if in an intricate dance. She tried to remedy it with the smile that she had come to like. The one that was more timid than joyous; not fully flourished in its new discovery. Dorian's grin was quick, charming, and she knew why so many women had followed him to bed and beyond. A pitcher of water sat on a serving table and he made his way towards it. Tossing a few lemon quarters into a bowl of fruit, he filled the bowl that they had been occupying. Clearing a small space of his desk he set the bowl down. A few rolled parchments fell off the desk and Manon's lightning-fast reflexes saved another pile of papers from the same fate. Dorian payed no attention to the fallen information, and instead gave Manon a quick glance to see that she was watching. He turned his eyes back to the glass dish and breathed out calmly through his nose. She saw his nostrils flare ever so slightly and his eyes close for split second longer than a usual blink. Then he raised his left hand ever a tiny bit, flicked his fingers outwards. Fascinated, Manon saw the water starting to change colour, becoming an opaque white. Spreading from the edge of the bowl nearest Dorian, the rest of the water froze. Manon shifted closer and drew one perfect nail across the surface of the ice. Frozen. Solid. She'd seen his powers first hand. If this is what he could do without help and training, she couldn't possibly comprehend the full power he had. Dorian turned to her and the side of his mouth turned up in a quirky grin.

"Impressed?" he asked, smugness flowing from him in waves. She concentrated on keeping her face void of emotion, willing her blood to cool and her face to stay pale. Her ivory skin gave her a wraith-like appearance, and she was proud of it. He would not be found blushing in the King's office. The man had barely said anything to her and she already felt like a stupid mortal girl fawning after some handsome man.

"Satisfactorily so," she kept her voice icy. "But I haven't come here to watch you play ice Queen," she moved away from him, hoping that the distance would return some sense to her. "You know that my Grandmother has me working for Perrington. I am the Wing Leader of the Thirteen, his aerial army general."

She turned back to face him, her golden eyes piercing into him, as if she could see straight into his soul. He resumed his position leaning against the desk and she sat herself down on one of the couches. He was no threat to her, she knew. If he made a move to harm her she would rip his throat out. She drew her legs onto the chair, folding her ankles comfortably. Slinging an arm over the back of the lounge seemed to be the cue for Dorian as he made his way over to the couch opposite her.

"Yes," he said. "I am well aware of where your loyalties lie," nodding slowly, contemplatively.

"But you could be wrong," she stared back at him, one eyebrow raised in challenge, saying what she couldn't voice for fear of being heard.

"So I may be wrong…" he leaned back in the chair and clasped his hands in front of him, his elbows resting on the arms of the chair. He looked at her for a moment before getting up and fetching something from his desk. Manon tracked his movements wordlessly. He returned with three rolls of paper. The first one he spread out, placed on it a small coloured orb and motioned for her to hold the corners.

"You know what this is," he said quietly, looking at her across the table short table between them.

"Yes," she breathed. It was Morath, where Perrington was keeping the Thirteen and making monsters. Except that when she looked closer she saw that it was _not_ where Perrington was – the marker that is. She looked up at him. Even sitting down he was taller that her. She was not a short woman by any means, but she was not tall either. She didn't need height to instil fear in people. "May I?" she gestured to the orb. Dorian nodded. With slender fingers and perfectly manicured nails she picked up the orb and moved it across the map to the other side of the great mountain. Near a forest, Perrington's keep had been built where it would seem impossible to situate a building, let alone a monstrous castle with a tower. "Wrong side," she let a small smile escape and was mesmerized for a moment by Dorian's exchange grin. His teeth were perfectly straight and white, and Manon thought about how he must be repulsed by her own Iron teeth. She had never thought that people would be disgusted by them, just petrified. Dorian nodded thoughtfully.

"We didn't know exactly where it was, we just guessed. If you weren't here today we may have gone off in a completely wrong direction," Dorian spoke softly, appreciatively. Manon raised her eyes from looking at the map to meet his. She ran her gaze over his features once more, lingering on his mouth for just a tad longer. When she made eye contact again she realised he'd been monitoring her perusal of him. His mouth twitched up in a smirk at the corner, and Manon averted her gaze quickly. She was unable to stop the blasted heat that curled through her cheeks, and made her toes squirm in her boots. Standing abruptly she looked down at Dorian, filling her eyes with as much distain as she could muster for this man. He rose slowly from his chair, and Manon was aware of their significant height difference when her gaze finally rested at his shoulders. Broad and strong, the shoulders of a warrior, now the shoulders of a king. Dorian paced beside the table, and Manon patiently waited for him to say something. She glanced out the window to see sunshine outside, and for a desperate moment wanted only to be in the mountains somewhere lying in a field of wildflowers, just like that stupid beast of hers. She smirked fondly at the thought of him, and Dorian glanced up sharply at her chuckle. He closed the distance between them suddenly, in two urgent strides. He came to stand directly before her, so close that she could feel his breath hit her temple, and she could see the hard strong column of his throat. He swallowed once, and she looked into his eyes, feeling vulnerable, yet so alight with a strange fire that seemed to burn in her whenever he was around. He gazed down at her, and her eyes roamed over the plains of his face. _So dratted handsome_ , she thought to herself. Manon knew that if anyone would be her undoing, it would be this man.

"Would you consider working for us, as a spy," Dorian's words were slow, and whispered. He had learned in closer to her, his voice flowing over her ear like gentle honey. Their bodies barely touched, only the tips of their toes, their chests, and their fingertips. Manon swallowed, weighing her decision. But she couldn't think properly, not with him this close. Every part of her that touched him was shot through with a strange electricity, and deep down a subtle ache had begun. Tilting her head up ever so slightly, she gave her whispered answer: "We'll see. I will meet you again with my answer."

Dorian followed Manon's figure as she strode from the room. Head held high, her delicate shoulders set square. Despite her petit stature it was obvious that she was strong, her muscle honed like a delicate weapon. Her hips swayed, and her long hair rippled behind her. She didn't bother closing the door, and Dorian listened to her footsteps fading down the halls. He closed his eyes, wishing eternal damnation upon himself for falling for her. He hadn't even fallen fully yet, but he knew he was on a dangerous path. He breathed in deeply, and was able to still pick up her scent. Soft and feminine, and so different from the persona she attempted to portray. He chuckled. He liked her. He liked that she was tough, yet also so obviously vulnerable. He doubted that anyone beside him saw her vulnerability though. When she has leaned into him, answered his desperate question, it had nearly been his undoing. He had just wanted to grab her waist right then, and kiss her senseless. It had taken everything in him not to do it, and he was pleased that he hadn't done it, eager to try it at a later date. She smiled to himself, clasping his hands behind his back and making his way into a warm patch of sunlight. He'd see her again. And when he did, he somehow knew that her answer would make him very, very pleased.


End file.
